


Fruits

by WikdSushi



Series: Bitter Sweets [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo Is A Little Shit, Courtship, Hot Dwarf In Love, Imprisonment, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WikdSushi/pseuds/WikdSushi
Summary: While imprisoned in Thranduil's dungeon, Thorin learns just how resourceful (and caring) his beloved burglar really is.





	Fruits

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read. I HAVE NO REGRETS.

Seventeen days, by the thread of light breaking into his isolated cell. Seventeen days of fear. Of Elves. Spiders tying him and his compatriots into silken pantries, until he woke in a sweat, alone and shaking. Seventeen days alone.

Seventeen days since Bilbo died to make a spider’s meal. 

Seventeen days of mourning. 

Thorin scrubbed his face in the constant trickle of water at the back wall of his cell. Until such time as Thranduil, the hateful tyrant, chose to release them, Thorin and his remaining company would live on nary but coarse bread and grog, separated, lost from each other and Erebor. 

He lifted his head to cry a plea to his Maker. Mahâl, Mahâl, find Bilbo’s lost soul and keep it safe until Thorin might join him. Warm his beloved as Thorin could not--- 

“Whatever that is, keep it up. The Elves think they’ve broken you.” 

Thorin swallowed. He turned to Bilbo, but saw nothing in the faint light beyond his cell. “So you haunt me. I cannot say it is undeserved.” 

“What are you on about, Thorin? Only because you can’t see doesn’t mean I’m…. Stubborn old fool.” 

“You are dead, Master Burglar. Taken by foul creatures. Do not make me suffer more, I beg you.” 

Bilbo’s sigh. A soft scrape upon the ground. “I’ll be back when it’s a bit safer. You’re not rid of me yet.” 

When Thorin turned to look once more, he found a pear upon the ground, just inside his Valar-forsaken cell. The dusty light by which he marked days lent its red skin a gleam. When Thorin bit into it, it tasted of summer and smelled of Bilbo. 

* 

Three more days and four pieces of fruit, and Thorin woke to Bilbo eating grapes on the other side of his barred door. 

“They’re wine grapes,” Bilbo said as Thorin gripped two bars and stared. “Not so sweet, but they’ve locked up the pears for now. Don’t worry, I got some to Ori and the boys.” 

“Amrâlimê.” 

Bilbo smiled and tucked his grapes away in a pouch at his hip. He closed his hands over Thorin’s. “I’ve missed you, Thorin.” 

“My Burglar. I thought the spiders---” 

“Don’t talk to me about spiders! Or Elves. Right now, they’ve gone mad, looking for the cretin who keeps weeing in King Thranduil’s shoes.” 

“The…?” It took a moment for Thorin to process what Bilbo said. He chuckled. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“Yes. Well. I wouldn’t be proud of it, but he’s taken captive some folk of whom I’m rather fond.” 

Thorin grinned. “Anyone in particular?” 

“Hmm. Well. Perhaps two of three. Or one.” Bilbo’s deliberate calm wavered, and Thorin took in the laxity of his clothing, the shadows beneath his eyes, and the hard set of his mouth. “I’m searching for a way out. No luck yet.” 

Thorin nodded. He pushed his right arm between the bars and pulled Bilbo closer. They pressed their foreheads together. “If anyone could find one, it would be you. Clever thing.” 

Bilbo smiled. It diminished none of his exhaustion. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back when I can. Don’t stop singing that… you know, I have no idea what it is.” 

“A prayer for the dead.” 

Bilbo went a bit green. “I certainly hope that doesn’t become the case.” 

Before Thorin could speak, Bilbo popped a sour grape into his mouth and shoved the rest of the bunch in his hand. “Think of me, Thorin.” 

And he was gone. 

* 

Thorin certainly did think of Bilbo. Thought of him as he strengthened his body in cramped confinement; thought of him as he sang his prayers, which came louder and more urgent than when Bilbo was merely dead; thought of him as he tried to sleep, his hand creeping deeper beneath his thin blanket when his imagination exceeded propriety. 

Thought of him most when Bilbo huddled, often invisible and always exhausted, within the space beneath a twisted tree root outside his cell. Too far to touch, but near enough for comfort. 

A week passed, and with it Bilbo brought tart apples, a handful of soft, sweet late strawberries, even segments of an orange. Thorin had hardly seen an orange since his youth. He gobbled the precious, exotic fruit, and cupped his hands over his face to cling to its fragrance. With such fruits came brief messages. 

“The boys are well, and they send their love.” “Balin has taken cold. He needed the lemon I stole more than you do, but I have you some gooseberries. No sugar, I’m afraid.” “Cherries today! Careful of stones. Be sure to swallow them to hide the evidence. I’m not sure this is what you intended of a burglar.” 

Thorin chuckled. “Right now, I wouldn’t ask any---" 

Footsteps. Bilbo stuck his hand in his pocket and vanished. The red-haired she-elf that had helped capture the company hurried into view at the bottom of the winding hallway to Thorin’s isolated cell. She looked about, and beyond Thorin into his cell. 

“Who are you talking to, narg?” 

“My Maker. What business is it of yours?” 

“I’m ensuring that you’re alone. Odd. None of your fellows laugh with the Smith.” 

“Perhaps none of them are as sure of His sense of humor as I am.” 

She scowled. Still, drew herself to her full, immense height. “My king has requested your presence later. Wash your face. My prince and I shall fetch you in good time.” 

As he watched her retreat, Thorin’s blood ran chill. He sat on the packed soil floor and rubbed his eyes, and paused when Bilbo—still invisible—cupped his cheek. 

“I ought to poison them all for calling you such names. Stunted? Perverted? You’re no such thing.” 

“You speak their language?” 

“Well enough.” 

Thorin caught Bilbo’s hand and kissed his palm. His burglar surprised him again and again. He brushed his chin against Bilbo's fingers as he said, “Look after the others.” 

Bilbo fell still. “I’ve seen his interrogations of you. One, anyhow.” He paused a moment, and whispered, “He deserves worse than ruined shoes.” 

“Please hurry. Get us out of here.” 

Bilbo tugged Thorin forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m doing my best. I can’t promise more.” 

Thorin nodded. He felt a squeeze of his hand, and Bilbo was gone. 

* 

The Elvenking lounged upon his throne, a golden plate of fruit in his hand. Thorin, bound and guarded, met his smirk with a bitter stare. His mouth watered as Thranduil bit into a slice of orange. 

“You can have all you want,” Thranduil said with the fruit tucked into his cheek. It was a novel enough sort of interrogation, especially after months of travel and weeks of stale bread. “All you have to do is talk.” 

Thorin stood in silence. Even when Thranduil came closer to let him smell the orange slices, berries, spiced apples, the pears with honey, Thorin only lifted his chin higher. Thranduil harrumphed and bit into a piece of apple. 

“I see I shall have to turn to your people. The children. Two of them are your heirs, yes?” 

Thorin could not help but stiffen. Fíli and Kíli were strong, good boys. They had gone too long without full bellies, though. It was not weakness that he feared of them, but their hunger. The stark proof of his failure to give them all they deserved, living in exile. Thranduil’s smile cut through him, sharp and clear. 

“Ah, yes. I see what needs to be done. Legolas, bring me---” 

A walnut shot through the air from next to Thranduil’s throne and shattered his crown upon his head. Thranduil gripped his head, looking about in open terror. 

“Is it back?” the red-haired she-elf said. 

“ _Let them go!_ ” Bilbo’s voice echoed through the room, the Sindarin loud enough for Thorin to feel on his skin. The golden plate flipped from Thranduil’s fingers. He jumped back and shouted for his guards. 

“Get him out of here!” he shouted, pointing at Thorin. “Find it! Find the miserable spirit and cast it out!” 

Thorin laughed as Prince Legolas jerked him back towards the dungeons. “You have angered the Smith, Elvenking! And with Him, His Green Lady!” 

“Silence him!” 

But the courtroom swirled with too much chaos for anyone to listen, and Thranduil’s panicked order went ignored. Thorin held his tongue until the prince left him alone in his cell once more. 

A while passed, and the shouting and pounding of feet quieted. Soon, Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand on the bar he gripped. 

“I’ve got to look after the others. I promise, we’ll be free soon.” 

Thorin nodded, and felt a faint kiss at the corner of his mouth. He touched it, his heart thrumming down into his belly. 

“Soon,” Bilbo said, and Thorin found himself alone, still rubbing the spot where his beloved kissed him. 

* 

On an evening when the halls echoed with carousal, and the few remaining guards patrolled in fear of angering dark spirits, the sound of a key rattled in the lock to Thorin’s cell. 

“We haven’t much time,” Bilbo said. “Apple barrels.” 

“What?” 

“Apple barrels. That’s all I’m going to say.” The door swung open, and Bilbo appeared, more haggard and haunted than Thorin had ever seen him. 

Thorin pulled Bilbo into his arms. They stood like that a moment, holding each other, breathing, each other’s hands clinging and grasping wherever they found purchase. Thorin tipped Bilbo’s chin and pressed the softest of kisses to his lips. When they broke apart, Bilbo gazed at Thorin, mouth barely open, his eyes brighter than they had been since before they entered the Mirkwood. 

“Well. That’s a lovely greeting, Thorin. I’m glad to see you, too.” 

“You said something about---” 

“Yes! Keep quiet. The guards are sleeping, but we must be swift and silent as bats.” 

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and led him through the labyrinth of the Elvenking’s dungeon, towards the others and freedom. Towards Erebor. 

Neither let go.


End file.
